“Oh!” said Emily meekly.
TEN
Mrs. Poovey and Mrs. Loops
Slowly.
Slowly.
Slowly.
Emily crept up the stairs. She was clutching her bucket so tightly her hand ached. Deep inside the bucket, curled up in a nest of sponges and rags and covered with torn scraps of muslin, lay the kitten. Its tiny stomach swelled with two whole saucers of milk, it was now soundly, and safely, asleep.
But what if it should awaken? What if Emily should run into the ugly Captain Scurlock again, or even Mrs. Plumly, who should no more know about the kitten than the fish syrup? Or, horror of horrors, what if Emily should run into Mrs. Meeching herself? Despite all these possible dangers, however, and despite the solemn warning of the grandfather clock in the dining room, Emily’s footsteps continued on their dangerous journey, almost as if they had a mind of their own. Slowly.
Slowly.
Slowly.
By the time she crept from the dark, narrow stairwell that led to the attic, her legs felt ready to buckle under her. And the hand that reached out to tap on Mrs. Poovey’s and Mrs. Loops’s door was cold as the underground stones of Sugar Hill Hall. But she was safe! Now all that remained was to discover if bringing the kitten was worth the terrible risk.
She stood outside the door, knowing that no one would answer her knock, whether the room was empty or not. But she would never march into one of the old people’s rooms unannounced as Tilly did. After allowing a few moments to pass, Emily finally entered.
The scene in the room was exactly the same as the last time she had been there. It was as if she had simply returned to look at a painting on the wall. Mrs. Poovey still sat silently by her cot in the same frayed black wool shawl, with her tiny hands folded in her lap. Across from her, the enormous Mrs. Loops overflowed a tiny wooden chair, her apricot dress, large as a circus tent, drooping about her ankles. Her face was stained with recent tears, and as Emily entered, fresh supplies were already preparing to gush from her eyes. Yet, like Mrs. Poovey, she said nothing. Except for an occasional sniff and a dab at her eyes with a sodden handkerchief, she sat and stared at the blank wall in mournful silence.
Emily set her bucket on the floor and knelt down beside it. Then, reaching in as if to pull out a rag or a sponge, she carefully lifted out the sleeping kitten instead. Without a word, she laid it gently on Mrs. Poovey’s lap within the circle of the small, withered hands. A hush fell on the room as Mrs. Poovey continued to sit silent and still. Then slowly, slowly she lifted one hand and began to stroke the kitten’s head. And then slowly, just as slowly, two tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her wrinkled cheeks.
“Does it have a name?” she asked. Her voice was like the tinkling of a tiny, very old silver bell.
“Not yet,” replied Emily. “Would you like to give it one, Mrs. Poovey?”
Mrs. Poovey seemed to go into a trance as she continued stroking the kitten. “Clarabelle,” she said at last, transporting the name from a faraway time and place. “I had a kitten by that name once.”
“Then that shall be its name!” Emily said promptly.
With that, Mrs. Poovey suddenly took Emily’s hand in hers and pressed it to her wet cheek. “Oh, my dear child! My dear child!”
Emily gave her a trembling smile. What would Kipper say if he could see Mrs. Poovey, who had not been able to cry since she entered Sugar Hill Hall, now crying tears of happiness!
The continuously weeping Mrs. Loops, however, had most curiously not produced the smallest sniff for some moments. Emily turned to her, and there was Mrs. Loops beaming and holding out her arms for Clarabelle! Mrs. Poovey quickly handed her the kitten.
“Clarabelle is a lovely name, Mrs. Poovey. I couldn’t have thought of a prettier one,” said Mrs. Loops.
Mrs. Poovey’s face, already wrinkled as a dried leaf, crinkled further with pleasure. “Thank you, Mrs. Loops.”
These were probably the first words the ladies had exchanged since Mrs. Loops’s arrival! After a few enchanted moments, in which the two simply sat gazing at the kitten asleep in the folds of Mrs. Loops’s apricot dress, Mrs. Poovey spoke again.
“She has a pink nose!”
“And white whiskers!” added Mrs. Loops in the voice of one who has just made the most remarkable discovery in the world.
“Could—could she be purring?” asked Mrs. Poovey.
Mrs. Loops lowered an ear close to Clarabelle and nodded raptly.
They continued finding new delights about the kitten to bring to one another’s attention and exclaim over, murmuring softly and hesitantly as if they were learning to talk all over again and needed to become used to the sound of their own voices.
Not wanting to interrupt the kitten’s magic, Emily went quietly to work on her chores. The two old ladies were so intent on Clarabelle, they hardly seemed to notice that all the while they were talking, Emily was sloshing and washing, scrubbing and sweeping, bed making and dusting. She didn’t mind at all and was perfectly content to let the kitten be the center of attention. After all, think what it had accomplished! She began to sing under her breath.
“Clarabelle’s the kitten’s name.
Kitten’s name, kitten’s name,
Nothing now will be the same,
My fair lady!”
Emily never even noticed that the room had fallen very quiet, and the ladies had stopped talking. Then suddenly Mrs. Poovey rose from her chair and took Emily’s hands in her own.
“My dear child, thank you for bringing life to this barren room!”
“Oh!” breathed Emily. “You and Mrs. Loops do love the kitten so much, don’t you?”
“Of course we do!” exclaimed Mrs. Poovey. “But darling Emily, it’s you I meant!”
“Of course it was!” affirmed Mrs. Loops, returning Clarabelle to Mrs. Poovey in order
